


Aziraphale Confuses His Wedding Planner

by WorseOmens



Series: Good Omens Outsider POVs [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Humour, M/M, aziraphale is an idiot, outsider pov, wedding planner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 02:10:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorseOmens/pseuds/WorseOmens
Summary: Jenny is a wedding planner, looking to take on a new client. Mr Fell is happy to have her on board, but he isn't always the best at communicating...(A human wedding planner can't make sense of an angel who can't make sense of humans either... it's humorous fluff)





	Aziraphale Confuses His Wedding Planner

Jenny was a high-end wedding planner, for couples with taste and money (though only the latter was strictly necessary). She herself was single, and had never been especially inclined to romance, but it was nice to see all the happy couples passing through her care.

On a rainy Thursday morning, she had an appointment with a Mr Fell. She was excited about this one. He'd booked a consultation weeks in advance, and quoted a large sum, even by her standards, as an estimated budget. He sounded very polite over the phone, too, and she had high hopes that he'd be a rare profitable-and-unproblematic customer... although she reserved judgement for now. After all, she hadn't met the spouse yet.

He arrived promptly at her office, without a drop of rain on him, though she didn't notice any umbrella. She greeted him with a handshake and a smile. "Nice to meet you, Mr Fell," she said, settling behind her desk. "Will your fiancé be joining us?"

"Oh, no, I'm afraid," he said apologetically. He was a pale-haired, older man, and it struck her that he was leaving it quite late to get married. Perhaps he was a widower, and this was his second time around. "He's quite busy at the moment, I do apologise."

Ah, gay. That explains it. She had plenty of older LGBT couples, who were just now making the decision to tie the knot after years of not being allowed. That was nice, too. Jenny took all sorts, and she didn't judge. It wasn't in the job description. 

"Not to worry, sir, plenty of people take their first appointment alone," she said, lying to reassure him. She liked reassuring people. Weddings were nerve wracking enough as it was. "Now, just some formalities..."

During their first appointment, they came up with a provisional budget, estimated time scale and booked their next appointment. Mr Fell had some thoughts about colour schemes, but he was hesitant to commit to them.

"I do like neutral colours," he said thoughtfully. Jenny could see that, just by his choice of clothes. "But my fiancé is much more of a muted, dark sort of fellow... I shall have to ask him."

She hummed, noting that down. She could probably come up with a plan by next time; clients didn't know what was good for them, 90% of the time. They'd throw around some terrible ideas, and she'd 'compromise' and 'modify' them until they were totally unrecognisable, and much better. It was the nature of client-based work. 

Mr Fell returned a week later, alone again. It was a grey day, with frost sticking to the pavement even as the sun rose. Winter was closing in. 

"I am terribly late, I am sorry," he said, flustered as he sat down before Jenny's desk. She tilted her head, staring incredulously at the clock.

"Only by two minutes, Mr Fell, it's not a problem," she said, smiling at this endearing man. "Still no sign of your other half?"

"Oh, she's very worried about her car, you see," he said, gesturing vaguely at the window. "Frost doesn't agree with antique vehicles, so I'm told."

Jenny's smile slipped slightly. "She?"

"Yes," Mr Fell said, folding his hands in his lap and returning her baffled stare.

Jenny shook her head to clear it. "I'm sorry, I just - maybe I got this wrong?" she said, looking at her notes from last time. "Yes, for some reason I've written down here that you're fiancé is a man, I'm very sorry, I'll amend that right away."

Surprisingly, Mr Fell laughed. "That was correct at the time, yes," he said, settling back in his chair with one leg over the other. "These things change, though, don't they? My fiancé is most definitely a woman now."

Jenny blinked. She'd had some engagements under her care break down before the wedding before, but... They were usually upset. Mr Fell seemed chipper as ever. She'd also seen some clients end things with one partner, then come back to her years later with a new one. She had never seen a man who was seemingly happily engaged to a man one week, only to call it off and end up engaged to a woman by the next. 

"Okay," she said dumbly, swiping a tongue over her lips and scribbling that down. She reminded herself not to judge. It wasn't her private life, and it wasn't her place to think ill of her customers. She was guilty of making prejudgements sometimes, though, and she really hadn't pegged Mr Fell as a stone cold player, but hey... looks can be deceiving. 

The remainder of the meeting was constructive. She presented her colour scheme plan to Mr Fell, who seemed thrilled by it. It was full of white and dark, muted reds, with accents of gold. She'd noticed that he wore lots of rings last time he came; all gold, all very expensive-looking. She wondered if the quick succession of relationships had anything to do with that, and the enormous price tag on the wedding, or if he just had a charming personality.

By the time their third appointment rolled around, London was swaddled in the thick of winter. She had been working on creating a list of venues, caterers and tailors for the big day. If she could get Mr Fell and his spouse, provided it was still the same woman, to settle on one of each, she'd count that as a win. She wasn't holding out much hope, though. It never went quickly, or smoothly, where fussy couples were concerned. 

This time, Fell had asked her to come by his shop and drop off paper copies of all the documentation so far. She had offered to email him, but he said he didn't have an email. Nor did he have a smartphone, nor computer, nor even a fax machine... 

"Anthony jokes that the most up-to-date things I have in the shop are the books," he chortled. "Which is preposterous, of course. I have a rotary telephone, too."

Her brow furrowed as she leant against the desk, doodling flowers on the edge of her notes. "Anthony?"

"Oh dear me! Didn't I ever...?" he said, then tutted to himself. "My fiancé, dear. I cannot believe I forgot to tell you his name."

Her jaw went slightly slack. She mumbled a half-hearted reply, flipped through her notepad and furiously ripped out the page about wedding dresses. She was used to clients being indecisive about their cake or their venue, but she'd never encountered a man who was having trouble deciding who he was actually going to marry. 

She arrived at AZ Fell & Co Bookseller's as the first snowflakes began to fall. Her breathing misted up her glasses, and she cursed under her breath as she found the door locked. She checked her watch. It was eleven o'clock on a Wednesday... He must have closed up specially for the appointment (wrong, but heigh ho). She knocked on the door, and tucked her numb fingers back under her arm. 

Mr Fell called from somewhere inside: "It's open!" 

She huffed. "No it - " she began, going to rattle the handle for effect. It swung open under her grip. She stared blankly for a moment. " ... isn't?"

She went inside, closing it behind her. Her brow stayed creased. It had definitely been locked... She turned around, taking in the surroundings of the idyllic secondhand bookshop. The shelves were gleaming varnished hardwood, and everything had its place... even if that place happened to be on the floor, in some cases. It was organised chaos. She stepped forward, feeling the old floorboards creak loudly underfoot.

"Mr Fell?" she called, looking back and forth between the shelves.

"One moment!" he called. There was a shuffling noise as he came into the room from somewhere behind her, and Jenny turned to face him.

She couldn't suppress a small shriek. Her hand leapt to her mouth, and she scrambled backward in shock. Draped over Mr Fell's shoulders, wrapped around his torso and his arm, there was a gargantuan black snake. It looked like it had slithered out of a prehistoric textbook, crawling around by the feet of dinosaurs... She had never seen any pet so huge.

"Oh, please don't be alarmed," Mr Fell said, smiling angelicly. He gave the snake an affectionate scratch on the head. "He's harmless, really."

She swallowed thickly, and nodded. She cautiously edged closer, extending a hand for him to shake. "Good to see you again, Mr Fell," she said. As she shook his hand, the snake lifted its snout to tap her hand. She sharply withdrew her arm, eyeing the serpent suspiciously.

"Don't mind him, he's just saying hello," he said. "He's very friendly."

She looked him up and down, at the way the huge black coils wrapped around his body. "I can see that," she said. Her nerves were frazzled. Could this client get any weirder? "Will Anthony be joining us today?"

"Y - er, no," he said, stumbling slightly over his words with a quick glance at the snake. "He doesn't like the snake. Won't be caught in the same room as him, ever."

She processed those words slowly. "And... does the snake have to be here for the appointment?"

"I think so," he replied, in a voice that brooked no argument. He began to make his way into the back room, gesturing for her to follow along. "He gets awfully cold in winter. He needs the body heat."

Crowley had been using that excuse to cuddle up to Aziraphale ever since the Apocawasn't. It had been a joke, but now it had stuck, and he wasn't complaining. What's more, now he didn't have to talk directly to the wedding planner. He was never very eager about meeting new people, especially if he didn't expect them to hang around for long. So, he simply nestled close to his angel and felt quietly amused by Jenny's constant low-level befuddlement.

She laid out the lists, talking Mr Fell through the merits and disadvantages of each one. "This one is very good at vegan dishes," she said, pointing to the top of the catering list. "But I've heard mixed reviews about their handling of allergens. You might want to look out for that if - sorry, what is your snake doing?"

Aziraphale looked at Crowley. He had begun to slither onto the table, his nose resting on a sheet of paper as his head moved back and forth slowly. It looked like he was reading the list. That's because he was. Jenny, of course, thought this was a preposterous thing to think of a snake. Mr Fell didn't seem to agree.

"What is it, Crowley, dear?" he asked, as though the animal could understand.

Jenny watched in amazement as the snake carefully nosed a sheet of paper until he was able to grip it gently in his mouth. Then, he turned back to Mr Fell, placing the sheet in his hands. He didn't seem to think this was off behaviour at all, and simply readjusted his reading glasses to look at the paper. 

"That's the venue list, isn't it?" Jenny said. Mr Fell hummed in agreement.

The snake's tongue flickered out over the page. She couldn't see, but Crowley was trying to indicate the second item on the list. Aziraphale understood. "Tell me about this walled garden venue," he said.

She blinked. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she talked him through the basics. It was a spacious area, all outdoor, very popular for summer weddings. It was overflowing with greenery, and most couples liked to take their vows beneath the old apple tree. 

Aziraphale beamed. "Well, that sounds perfect," he said. He tickled the snake under the chin, the smile still lingering on his face. "Excellent suggestion, Crowley, you clever old serpent."

She looked up from her notebook, cocking a brow. She couldn't hide her incredulity this time. "Suggestion?" she deadpanned.

"Why, yes. He handed me the list, didn't he?" he said, seeming quite oblivious to the enormous animal tucking its head under his shirt collar. He wasn't, of course, but this had happened enough times for him to know that if he took Crowley out again, he'd just go straight back.

Jenny just nodded. "Of course," she said. She had no doubts that this would go down as her absolute most eccentric client of them all...

She got halfway through the planning process before it happened. She was minding her own business in her office done day, waiting for Mr Fell, when a call came through. It was the man himself, apologising profusely, and telling her that he couldn't make it. That was unfortunate. She did need to ask him something this time, regarding the documentation he gave her last month... She had only just got a chance to look at it. Just as she was about to cross his name out of her day planner, her said the words that made her heart jump.

"My fiancé will be stepping into my shoes this time, if that's all right," he said. She had never met any of Mr Fell's mysterious fiancés before; not one of them. As far as she could tell, this Anthony fellow had lasted the longest out of all the ones he'd been through so far. 

"Yes, yes, of course," she said, trying not to sound too excited.

"Wonderful. Toodle pip, best of luck with him," he said, and hung up. 

She drew back, staring at the receiver with a frown. "Best of luck..?" she echoed. 

She wondered what that meant. He was due here at any moment, and surely he couldn't be any stranger than Mr Fell. All she reliably knew about him was that he didn't like snakes. Maybe he was just very energetic, or very fussy... She didn't have long to muse.

BANG

She jumped out of her skin as the office door slammed open. Wide-eyed, heart hammering, she stared at the man who swaggered in dramatically after it. He was lanky, red-haired, with a snake tattoo on his face and round sunglasses. He was a fair rival to Mr Fell's own eccentric look. As he draped himself unceremoniously into the chair across from her, she had an inkling that she knew exactly who this was.

"You must be Anthony," she said tautly. She shook his hand.

"Yup," he said, slouching back like he owned the place. "And you're my wedding planner. It's about time we met; officially, at least."

She tilted her head, wondering what he meant. She had never even seen him in passing before... Judging by the sly look on his face, though, it didn't look like he'd be willing to explain himself. 

"Right..." she said, taking out her notes. She'd stuck it out through months of Mr Fell's baffling habits and quirks. She could handle this. "These are the notes that I have. You've only been involved in the wedding planning for... around four months, wasn't it?"

He gave her an odd look. "What are you on about?" he scoffed. "I've been in on this since day one. It was my idea to hire you, for Go - er, goodness' sake."

She opened and closed her mouth. She glanced down at her cover page, which was covered in scribbled-out titles alternating between 'husband and husband' and 'husband and wife'. "But..." she began, her head beginning to hurt. "I'm sorry. Your fiancé - he - well, I have to admit, he's been a little difficult to work with in places..."

Crowley snorted. "You're telling me."

Emboldened, she carried on. "I've been getting mixed messages on who exactly it is he's supposed to be getting married to," she blurted out. He stared at her for a long moment.

"What?"

"I have no idea if - if - " she said, struggling to phrase it in a professional manner. She sighed. "He tells me his fiancé is a woman one week, and a man the next. It's very confusing."

Crowley sucked in a breath, rubbing his temples. "Oh, angel..." he muttered under his breath, barely audibly. It was a long-suffering, but deeply affectionate tone. He looked up at Jenny almost pityingly. "He forgot to tell you, I'm genderfluid. My pronouns change from week to week. I think this is where the confusion comes in."

She thought back to the previous months. It certainly cleared some things up. "Yes, I think you're probably right," she said, taking out a file of extra information, in a slight daze. She stared down at the documentation she'd been given at the last appointment. 

Now all that was left to figure out was how, exactly, she was supposed to address the fact that Mr Fell's birth certificate was dated to 1842...


End file.
